


Nagging Feeling

by treepyful (treeperson)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Pining, Gen, M/M, Patrick doesn't know what to do, Sibling Relationship, but he's trying real hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeperson/pseuds/treepyful
Summary: Patrick could not figure out why David was being such a perpetualgrump.
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Patrick Brewer & Alexis Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 33
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this show’s timeline is ridiculous and impossible (winter???), but one of the few solid dates we have is David and Patrick’s wedding on Sept 3 so I’m sticking with that as my temporal pole star.
> 
> Also: **this fic is only one chapter long!** The content of the second chapter is identical to the first, just made screen-reader friendly. Since the text chain photos aren’t accessible to reading tech (the alt text would be too long), I wrote them out in regular text. If you use a screen-reader, or if you prefer written out texts versus the images, please skip to chapter two!

September, Patrick concluded, was an understandable write off. Their wedding being immediately followed by Mr. and Mrs. Rose’s departure from town would have been plenty enough to throw his and David’s balance off for a while, but adding in Alexis heading to New York a week later, dealing with the purchase of the house, signing two new vendors, and finding an employee to help keep the store afloat while the two owners were caught in the whirlwind of the rest of the lives – well, yes. A write off. Any spikes in emotions or tempers were forgiven and waived, completely, wholeheartedly, mutually, for the entirety of September.

October was better. They closed on the house in late September and booked moving trucks for the first week of October, giving themselves a solid ten days to get as settled as they could before the long drive through the perfect autumn foliage to the Brewers’ for the Thanksgiving weekend. David ate damn near an entire shoofly pie, much to Auntie Carole’s satisfaction, and Patrick did some much-needed work to repair the still healing bond with his parents.

November was classically gross -- grey and wet and cold without the childish delight that comes with snow, the wind stripping away the colour of the year into the bland misery of bare branches and sturdy conifers. Environmental factors aside, though, November was good. Sales picked up at the store with the approaching holiday season, Stevie started coming around a few nights a week for dinner and drinks and snippy banter, and Patrick managed to convince David to join the curling league with a promise of plentiful alcohol and very little physical exertion. (Stevie documented the first game with great enthusiasm and hid behind Patrick when David tried to delete the evidence from her phone.)

When December brought the childish delight in ten-centimetre bouts, each melting just before the next appeared, Patrick declared himself utterly stumped. Things were going undeniably well for them – financially, professionally, personally, romantically, domestically, and by just about any other measure Patrick could think of.

So he could not figure out why David was being such a perpetual _grump_.

* * *

September 28:

* * *

Perhaps “perpetual” was unfair, Patrick reflected. David was perfectly pleasant – for a given definition of pleasant as defined by David’s character and personality – about nine tenths of the time. The reason for that last tenth, however, was frustratingly elusive. The grumpiness popped up when Patrick least expected it and he had yet to find a recognisable trend.

For example: on a Tuesday in mid-October that brought an afternoon lull to the store, David and Patrick had been idly discussing potential destinations for an inexpensive honeymoon weekend to tide them over until they could afford a real honeymoon in a year’s time.

“Do you care which side of the border we stay on?” Patrick was restocking the skin care section, opened boxes in a semi-circle at his feet.

David shook his head absently, spray bottle and cloth in hand as he eyed the produce. “Nope. Dual citizenship has its perks.”

Patrick smirked. “No comment.”

“Uh, rude.”

“Well, if it doesn’t matter to you, I’d rather stay in Canada.” Patrick folded up an empty box and leaned it against the table leg. “Crossing the border can be such a fuss sometimes.”

“I… have never done it on a commercial flight, I’m realising. Is it really that bad?” David gave Patrick a horrified look. Patrick just raised his eyebrows in return. “Gross, okay. Staying in Canada, right.”

“Suggestions? Keeping in mind that domestic flights are still pretty expensive, so maybe not far-flung destinations like Vancouver or Halifax.”

“We could do Montreal. My French is… non-existent but that’d probably be fine? You can French. Or we could do Toronto, I guess.”

“Ew, David,” Patrick quipped, scrunching up his nose to better imitate Alexis. “Toronto is ew.” David whipped around to glare at him, hands gesticulating wildly, and Patrick cracked up.

“Oh my God, Patrick, never do that again. If I have nightmares, it’s your fault!”

Patrick put his hands up in placation, a grin pulling at his cheeks, and continued the conversation. “I’m surprised you don’t want to do New York.”

“Yeah, no, New York in the winter is only nice in music videos. Plus it’s an expensive city and, unfortunately, you are not able to keep me in the style to which I had become accustomed while living there.” David put his nose in the air and spritzed the squash again, his lips veering to the side as he attempted to hide a smile.

“Okay David, how about Sudbury?” Patrick said in his flat trolling voice, turning to lean his hip on the table and cross his arms over his chest. “It’s a five-hour drive, plus a ferry over the lake, which would be _delightful_ in the winter. Very cheap, too. And I’m sure they’ve got, oh, at least one hotel. We could go ice fishing. Maybe look at a giant coin.”

David spritzed the bottle at him and Patrick swatted at the spray, laughing.

“I’ll take that as a no to Sudbury.”

“Mmm, you read my mind, darling.”

Then the door opened and a pair of customers came in, distracting David away from the produce to talk about their scented candles. Patrick continued restocking, folding up each box as he emptied it and carefully maintaining the precise lines and rows of bottles.

After David had rung out the customers’ purchases and the door’s bell had rung the customers out the store, Patrick waited expectantly for David to pick up the thread of their conversation again. They really did need to decide where they wanted to go if they were going to get plans in place for early next year, and since Patrick’s generous suggestion was just shot down, the ball was in David’s court. But after a long minute of silence, Patrick turned to see David leaning on the till counter, his hands splayed wide on the wood surface and his head hanging down loosely between his shoulders.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked cautiously, worry spiking his voice. “Did the customers say something?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, just thinking about candle scents.” David tipped his head towards Patrick but didn’t look up. “I wonder if Horace takes suggestions? Something bright and fruity, like mango, except he only does local scents. Maybe raspberry? His whole scent palette is just very… woody. Piney. Which is nice, of course, but some variety would probably go over well.”

Patrick nodded slowly, letting David talk them away from whatever was actually bothering him. “I think raspberry could work. What about cranberry?”

“Ooh, cranberry, yes.” David nodded rhythmically, chin jutting out. “Yes, yes, yes, good. Love it.”

“I’ll mention it to Horace next time I see him.”

David waved a hand. “No, I’ll just send him an email now. I should do some vendor correspondence anyway.” Turning on his heel, he swept into the curtained stock-room-slash-office and tucked himself into the chair.

Patrick pursed his lips; David hadn’t met his eyes once in that whole conversation. Tilting his head back and sending a small prayer for clarity to the ceiling, Patrick tidied his flattened boxes and continued his restocking efforts.

David was quiet and withdrawn for the rest of the afternoon, only speaking when spoken to, his body language shrunken and tight behind the desk. After they went home, David spent the evening curled up in his favourite armchair with a book while Patrick watched him worriedly over a cup of tea.

* * *

October 19:

  


* * *

For a while, Patrick thought David was worrying about money. The store was doing well, particularly for a retail start-up, and Patrick had no real complaints to speak of regarding the cash flow, but he wouldn’t put it past David to have unreasonably high expectations and be quietly crushed when they weren’t met. However, when Patrick’s prodding on the subject – which grew steadily less subtle over the span of a week – failed to produce the predicted effect and actually resulted in the about-face of David asking Patrick if _he_ was feeling okay with their financial situation, Patrick changed tack.

Directly asking David about his little downswings got them nowhere but on a direct (and rather loud) train straight to Ardent Denial, so Patrick started paying more attention to the conversations and circumstances that preceded the sour moods. They happened more frequently at home, especially in the evenings and first thing in the morning. They didn’t seem to be related to the weather or the temperature. Thankfully, there were no mysterious pill bottles floating around the apartment, no extra wine bottles in the blue bin. There was no regularity to the occurrences connected to the store or the café or food or sex or social media or any of the multitude of romcoms they watched on a regular basis. Patrick may have been a numbers guy, but this pattern was completely evading him.

He thought about appealing to Stevie for more information, but she clearly had no idea what was bothering David either given the inquisitive texts she sent Patrick whenever David stopped by the motel to see her. _what’s up with david?_ she’d ask, _did you wash one of his dry clean only sweaters? did he wear out his copy of notting hill? did roland exist near him?_ While not directly useful, Stevie had inadvertently lifted a small weight from Patrick’s shoulders – someone else had noticed. Patrick wasn’t just imagining that his husband was struggling with something and refusing to share; it was actually happening.

There was one evening in November when Patrick felt particularly useless in the face of David’s moods, so notably out of sync with his husband that it made him feel off balance.

They were cooking in the kitchen, Patrick at the stove with the chicken while David carefully marshalled the vegetables into a slaw, and enjoying David’s meticulously curated Queens & Queers playlist. Dolly Parton's crooning turned into Tegan and Sara’s impassioned vocals, followed by Hayley Kiyoko’s soft pining and Against Me!’s plaintive emoting, and then David sang along with Lady Gaga’s _Born This Way_ with an over-the-top enthusiasm that had Patrick laughing until he cried.

When the first familiar notes of _I’m Gonna Getcha Good_ spilled into the kitchen, Patrick grinned and immediately started bobbing his head, suddenly warm with a flush of nostalgia and feeling slightly ridiculous for it. At the other end of the counter, David made a disgruntled little noise in the back of his throat and plucked his phone from the bowl that was functioning as an amplifier. The song cut out, interrupting Shania mid-word, and the first strains of a Mika song filtered through the air instead.

The sudden change startled the warmth from Patrick’s chest, leaving him feeling a little hollow and cold. “Actually, can we listen to that song?” He tilted his head questioningly at David, who gave him a wide-eyed look in return.

“Oh.” David gestured, flustered. “Uh, the Shania one?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just like it. Reminds me of good times.”

“Okay, sure, yeah, let me go back.” The twangy music started up again.

Patrick lip-synced with the _let’s go_ part, then said, “Thanks. I know you usually skip it, but it’s a jam.”

“Wow, excuse me, I do _not_ usually skip it.”

Patrick paused at the underlying note in David’s tone and looked up from the skillet, brows pinched together. That was at least the third time David had skipped over that song in recent memory, and Patrick knew he’d probably missed a few more, so he didn’t think he was out of line in saying what he did. But David was frowning down at his phone, intently scrolling through something. His shoulders had crept up to his ears.

“Oh, okay. Sorry, I just thought you tended to. Wasn’t trying to make anything of it, David.”

David shook his head and dropped his phone back into the bowl, turning back to his chopping board and starting in on the cabbage again. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

 _Unlikely_ , Patrick thought, and began racking his brain for why a Shania Twain song would upset David as he shifted his weight back and forth to the beat for a few minutes. Coming up with approximately nothing, Patrick pushed the conversation.

“This came out when I was in high school and was on the radio constantly, y’know? And, I mean, you’ve got to love Shania – she’s local.”

David glanced up from his cabbage. “Isn’t Timmins like… a full day’s drive from here?”

Patrick shrugged. “More local to where I grew up, I guess. It’s only a couple hours away from there.”

“ _Local_ ,” David quietly mocked, and Patrick bit back a sigh. Still prickly, then. Taking an educated guess – and knowing how much David loved hearing about young, naïve Patrick – Patrick tried again.

“I even learned it for the guitar and played it at a talent show.”

David snapped his eyes to Patrick’s, a broad grin slowly creeping over his face. “Seriously? Oh my God, Patrick, how did you not know you were gay?” He laughed, shaking his head as he dumped the shredded cabbage into the waiting bowl.

“Hey now!” Patrick pointed the spatula at David, waving it menacingly. “You’re the one always going on about how aesthetic preferences don’t equate to sexuality.”

“Mm, and I’m right,” David gloated, swanning across the kitchen to drape himself over Patrick’s back. “Doesn’t mean there aren’t certain patterns.” He kissed Patrick’s cheek. “Such as a deep appreciation for the pop country queen.”

“Tell that to my entire high school, David.” Patrick shook his head, grinning despite himself. “Shania fans are basically universal in rural Ontario, especially during her peak.”

“Implying that she’s peaked?” David poked him in the side. “Rude. She’s making a comeback.”

Patrick ignored that. “Anyway, I played the guitar as an accompaniment for Rachel, who sang. It was her idea.”

“Hmm, I guess that does complicate matters a little more. Are those supposed to look like that?” David asked, eyeing the chicken thighs suspiciously.

Patrick prodded them with the spatula. “Yes.” Probably.

David made a deeply doubtful noise, pressed a kiss to the back of Patrick’s head, and moved back to his cutting board as the song came to an end. Mika started singing about being golden and Patrick hummed along automatically, his thoughts still bouncing around memories associated with Shania Twain.

Mika had turned into the Scissor Sisters when Patrick chuckled at a thought that suddenly sprung to mind. “It’s one of Alexis’ favourite songs too, I think. _I’m Gonna Getcha Good_ , that is.”

“Oh?” David kept his eyes trained on the apple he was carefully dicing.

“Yeah. Remember when I made the mistake of mentioning that I liked it one night when we all went out to the bar, and she made me dance with her to it? She played it on the jukebox like seven times in a row and wouldn’t let me sit down,” Patrick laughed. “Until those bikers took over control of the music. They did not approve of our impromptu Shania night.”

“Mmm, sounds about right. A hotbed of superior musical tastes, The Wobbly Elm is.”

“Beggars and choosers, honey.”

David didn’t respond, and Patrick felt his heart sink. He’d brought him back, had him laughing and joking, and then lost him again. He watched as David tossed the slaw with the dressing, quietly cleaned up his area, and slinked out of the kitchen. Patrick fought the sudden urge to cry, hating the helplessness welling in his stomach.

The playlist, full of joy and comfort, suddenly felt out of place and Patrick picked up David’s phone to turn it off.

* * *

November 26:

  
  
  


* * *

It all came out one evening in December.

Patrick was nearly nodding off over his book, some campy YA novel that Twyla had recommended and which was valiantly failing to keep him engaged in the aftermath of a full dinner, two glasses of wine, and a cuddly husband. He snapped his head up from where it had drifted down to his chest for at least the third time, rubbing at his eyes as he yawned. Glancing down at David, whose long form was sprawled out over the majority of the couch with his head resting on Patrick’s thigh, Patrick caught him smiling, clearly amused with Patrick’s inability to stay awake past nine thirty.

“It’s the wine,” Patrick quietly defended himself. David just _mmmm_ ’ed in response and turned a page in the book propped on his chest, one of his twisty, incomprehensible tomes of Canadian fiction.

Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face. The coziness was enhanced by the blustery evening whipping around outside the windows, producing a sharp contrast to the steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table and David’s mohair sweater, and he felt his brain snuggling into it like a big fluffy bed. There was a pea under the mattress somewhere though, a niggling thought that he was supposed to remember before he fell asleep.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Patrick said, tapping a finger gently against David’s forehead. “Noémie was asking today when we’re going to need her over the holidays. I told her I’d talk to you and get back to her tomorrow.”

David hummed, looking up from his book to raise his eyebrows at Patrick. “I guess that means we need to figure out our plans, then.”

“What are your parents doing for the holidays?” Patrick stifled another yawn. “I know it’s short notice, but we could probably host them here if they’d like. My parents understand that they can’t hog us for every holiday.”

“Mm, I was talking to Dad the other day and he said they can’t get away from California yet. They want to show up to all the right parties and shake the right hands, make sure people know they’re back in the scene. It’ll help spur more contracts for Mom.” David flipped a page in his book, tapping the toe of his ugg against the arm of the couch absently. “He went on about coming next year though, so maybe that. And if they come for Hanukkah instead of Christmas, I think it’s pretty early next year so it’d spread the chaos out a little bit.”

“Okay, that should work.” Patrick bit down on a sigh of relief. He loved the Roses, but they were… a lot and maybe the first Christmas in a new house, first as a married couple, wasn’t the best time to be inundated with Johnny and Moira’s particular brand of in-law. “What about Alexis?”

David flared his fingers, gold rings catching the lights as he looked up from his book. “What about her?”

“Do you know what she’s doing for the holidays? Is she flying to the west coast to be with your parents?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Patrick, I haven’t spoken to her in weeks.” David curled up slightly, pulling his feet in to raise his knees.

Patrick blinked. That didn’t seem right. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” David gasped out, indignant. “We’re not attached at the hip, Patrick.”

“Well, she could come here if she wants. We’re closer than California by a longshot.”

“Ugh.” David waved away the idea like it had a physical presence.

Patrick was struggling to follow the conversation, his brain still sluggish from the dozy atmosphere that had encompassed them before David had tensed up. “What? Do you not want her to come?”

“Um, no, have you met Alexis? What an exhausting creature.” The words were right and the tone was close, but there was something off about it. Something hollow sounding and sad.

If Patrick were a dog, his ears would’ve perked up.

Forcing his voice into something neutral, Patrick went on. “I dunno,” he said, stretching out his legs to prop his slippered feet on the coffee table. “I always found her more energising than exhausting. Very infectious enthusiasm.”

“Mmm, that would be because you only dealt with her on a part-time basis? You got sample size Alexis, not Costco Alexis.” David’s hand fluttered at his collarbone to emphasise how very unfortunate commercial bulk quantities of Alexis would be.

“Maybe,” Patrick conceded. He ran a hand through David’s thick hair, fingers catching slightly in the product-stiffness of it. “Why haven’t you been talking to her?”

“Why would I?” David’s face was a picture of bafflement. “She’s off doing her thing now, big publicist in the big city. She doesn’t need to hear from me.”

Pieces started clicking together in Patrick’s brain, a constellation slowly forming between previously arbitrary points – Alexis’ favourite song, Patrick’s _ew_ imitation, visiting Stevie at the now Rose-free motel, and all the other myriad reminders David likely encountered on a daily basis. “But don’t you miss her?”

David sat up and turned to grimace at Patrick, setting his open book upside down on the cushion beside him. “No,” he hissed, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s to miss? She doesn’t miss me either.”

“How do you know that if you haven’t spoken to her?”

“Because I know my sister, Patrick.”

Patrick pursed his lips and watched his husband carefully. Over the past few years, Patrick had learned how much armour David could put up to protect his vulnerable spots and how strong it could be, but he was still working on how to best get him to take it down. Sometimes it took cautious maneuvering and often it took loving mockery, but occasionally it just needed some irrefutable evidence to the contrary of whatever insecurity put the armour up in the first place. Shifting forward slightly, Patrick pulled his phone from his back pocket, brought up his text chain with Alexis, and handed it to David.

“What is this?” David grumbled, gingerly taking the phone in a limp grip.

Patrick dropped his hand to David’s thigh and squeezed gently. “Just read it.”

David read the messages visible on the screen and Patrick felt his breathing hitch where they were leaning together. Slowly scrolling with his thumb, David made his way through the previous messages, reading Patrick’s conversations with Alexis over the past week, then two weeks, then three, back and back and back. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of messages from her in the span of two and half months, and every single one of them was asking after David. Obliquely, perhaps, or sarcastically, but the pattern was undeniable.

Patrick watched David’s face as he read, watched his eyes go wet and his mouth flatten out as he tried to control his emotions.

“She misses you too, David.”

David’s face crumpled slightly and Patrick leaned in to press his forehead to his temple, nosing at the more-five-o’clock-than-deliberate scruff on his jaw.

“You’re allowed to miss your sister, sweetheart.”

Leaning into the touch, David suddenly brought a hand to his mouth and sobbed, his chest jerking unevenly with the rush of air. Patrick immediately wrapped his arms around him, David’s shoulder digging into his sternum as he tightened his grip. David almost quaked with his tears, his whole body jolting and rocking with the tide of anguish that came on strong, yet he was distressingly silent. Patrick ached to see David so distraught, to know that he’d been sitting on emotion of this magnitude, alone, for months. Something to work on, Patrick thought as he felt David shudder against him. 

“Breaths, David,” Patrick murmured, which mysteriously made David cry harder, but Patrick just repeated himself, making his own breathing full and obvious for David to imitate.

Minutes or hours later, Patrick realised that David had mostly stopped crying, a gradual calming like the settling snow after an avalanche, and was instead simply shaking as the emotional outburst took its physical toll. Patrick sat back slightly, loosening his hug, and David responded with a trembling breath, his face still crumpled and wet.

“Hey,” Patrick said, wiping a thumb under David’s eye. David flinched as though to pull away, but relaxed, letting Patrick clear some of the tears from his cheek.

“Hey,” David replied, voice so hoarse he just mouthed the sound. Patrick smiled softly and rubbed his hand along David’s ribcage, his fingers trailing through the soft halo of mohair fibre.

David sighed and cleared his throat a few times, still sounding very damp. “This is so dumb, ugh,” he croaked, fanning his face with his free hand. “She’s just my stupid sister, and I’m at least theoretically an adult.” Patrick plucked the tissue box from the coffee table and held it out to David, who gave him a grateful look as he extracted a handful of tissues. Dabbing at his face, he continued, “Why is this bothering me so much?”

Patrick thought about that for a second, pulling his thoughts together. “David, you went from living in a single room with your sister for _years_ to literally not seeing her for months. Of course you miss her. _I_ miss Alexis and I wasn’t sleeping in a bed a metre away from her or sharing a bathroom with her.”

“Count yourself lucky, mister -- Alexis does horrible things to bathrooms. So much hair.”

Patrick made the diplomatic decision not to comment on David’s own unquestionable presence in their en suite and instead pressed a kiss to David’s ear. “Can I ask why you haven’t been talking to her if you miss her? Modern technology is a wonderful thing for long distance relationships of all kinds, I promise.” He tapped his phone’s screen where it had gone black in David’s lap. “Instant communication.”

“I don’t—” David started, then stopped, hunching further over Patrick’s phone. “It wasn’t like this before.”

Patrick brought a hand up to rub David’s shoulders blades, wide strokes smoothing across his back. “What wasn’t?”

David was quiet for a few moments, wiping away the tears that resumed their path down his face. Patrick waited with him, letting him collect his thoughts until he was ready to speak.

“Alexis is bad at staying still,” David finally started. “Schitt’s Creek is by _far_ the place she’s stayed the longest since she was, like, eleven. Hell, her current stint in New York is probably in the top ten. I mean, there were a few years there where she was technically homeless because Mom and Dad moved and forgot to tell her, but I don’t think she actually even noticed because she was never home anyway.” Patrick huffed out a frustrated sound and David nodded absently in agreement, leaning further into Patrick’s solid form. “So I’m used to her leaving and disappearing for months on end, and only getting the occasional text or call and checking her Instagram to see where she was. I know that’s not… good, necessarily, but it was familiar, normal. Like, I’d be _worried_ about her, sure, because she was always getting into shit and doing _unbelievably_ dangerous things, but I didn’t _miss_ her because that’s just how it always was. That was our relationship.

“But now,” David laughed self-deprecatingly, “I don’t know what to do with missing her.” He shook the phone slightly for emphasis. “I don’t know how to manage this.”

Patrick mulled that over as he pressed a kiss to the ball of David’s shoulder. He didn’t like thinking about David and Alexis’ childhood, partially because it made him feel uncharitable things towards Johnny and Moira, and partially because he was uncomfortable with the ‘poor little rich kid’ trope that the younger Roses seem to fit so well, provided with all the creature comforts but none of the emotional necessities. But it was difficult not to imagine how David and Alexis would have relied on each other through such an upbringing, two kids surrounded by adults who didn’t care enough about them and who didn’t teach them how to care for other people.

Then Patrick imagined them growing up and adopting the adult behaviours modelled for them – cool disregard and haughty distance and feigned politeness, protecting their vulnerable inner workings from the vicious barbs thrown at them by the world they lived in. He pictured them slowly putting those behaviours into practice on each other, cutting off their sibling without understanding why they were doing it or why it was so tragic. He pictured them drifting away from each other, bouncing off mirrored walls and yearning for the connection that they were afraid to reach for, hesitant to disrupt their comfortable rhythm for fear of losing what tentative relationship they had, of losing their sibling to the fray that took everyone else before they had a chance.

Blinking back tears of his own, Patrick cupped his hand around the back of David’s neck. “Do you want help? Figuring out how to manage this?”

“Yes, please. My usual strategy of just ignoring everything hasn’t worked.”

Patrick huffed a laugh and David pulled his lips into a wry, if damp, smile that Patrick couldn’t help but lean in to kiss.

“Well, if you’ll allow me some guesswork, I think you and Alexis are trying to fall back into your old pattern – where you don’t really interact all that much outside of the occasional text – but your new relationship doesn’t fit that anymore. You’ve both changed and how you relate has changed.” David made a small noise of protest, but Patrick just squeezed his arm in response. “I think you need to work out how to fit together again.”

David rested his head in his hands, covering his eyes. “And how precisely does one do that? _Hey Alexis, let’s have a discussion about how to communicate effectively in the future_ isn’t going to go over well.”

Patrick let out a slow breath. “Okay, well, I’m an only child so the whole sibling relationship thing is a bit novel to me, but I have had to restructure several long-time relationships over the past few years. Partly because of the whole being gay thing—” he waved a hand in a wide circle to indicate all that encompassed, “—but mostly because I don’t live in Belleton anymore. All of my established patterns for my interactions with my family and friends had to change because most of them relied on me being physically present, which just can’t happen.

“I… definitely cut everyone off at first, back when I ran away to Schitt’s Creek, but that was just because I wasn’t ready to deal with them. Once I got my head on straight—”

“—head on gay—” David corrected quietly through a smile.

Patrick rolled his eyes affectionately, shaking his head. “—I just reached out to people. Found my new normal with them.”

“That sounds… incredibly unpleasant. And messy. And, like, open.”

“Yes, it was. Relationships often are, David.”

“Why are you so much better at this than me?”

Patrick paused. “…Do you really want to get into that right now?”

“No, nope, no, you’re right.” David breathed out a wavering laugh. “One disaster at a time.”

Rubbing David’s thigh, Patrick leaned in for a kiss. “Being vulnerable sucks, but that’s what taking that step with Alexis is. You’re both playing phone chicken, even if you don’t know you are.” He squeezed David’s thigh. “You need to put your neck out a little bit. And it really is only a very little bit because we’re pretty damn sure she misses you.” He tapped his phone again to illustrate his point.

David gave the phone a slightly wary look, which he then transferred to Patrick.

“Just call her, David,” Patrick said, tilting his head with a smile. “Five dollars says you’ll squawk at each other for a bit, she’ll say ‘ew’ at least once, you’ll tell her to lick a sandcastle or something, but she’ll call you back tomorrow.”

David scrunched up his nose. “Ugh, you know us too well.”

“Yes, I do, which is why I know she’ll appreciate the call.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll call her,” David declared, and then accepted Patrick’s incoming kiss with a slightly disgruntled expression. He lifted the phone, paused, and looked at Patrick. “How much do I sound like I’ve been crying?”

“Uh.” Patrick grimaced. “You could tell her you have a cold?”

“Oh my God. Whatever, it’s fine.” David swiped at the phone in his hand, realised it was Patrick’s, grabbed his from the coffee table, and opened his contacts. His thumb hovered over Alexis’ name. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as I can be, David. It’ll be fine and if it isn’t, I’ll help fix it.”

David grunted and tapped Alexis’ name, holding the phone to his ear as he reached for his probably-too-cold tea on the coffee table. Patrick heard the ringing cut off and David cleared his throat and stood, stepping away from the couch. “Hey.”

“What’s up? Are you okay?” Alexis’ voice was tinny through the phone’s speaker, but Patrick could still make her out.

“Yeah, I’m good, chill,” David responded as he made his way through the door to the kitchen. “How’s New York? Has it snowed yet?”

Patrick leaned back into the couch and ran a hand through his hair. He thought about picking up his phone to scroll through some social media, but it felt too heavy at the moment, too laden with the evidence of David and Alexis’ disjointed relationship. Instead, his eyes fell to David’s book, abandoned on the far end of the couch.

Carefully marking David’s spot with the back flap of the dust cover, Patrick flipped to the first page and started skimming. How did David read this stuff? Too much allegory for Patrick’s tastes by far. At least it made for a good distraction, engaging Patrick’s brain enough that he didn’t unwittingly try to listen in on David’s conversation with Alexis. It also reignited the drowsiness he’d been succumbing to earlier, which had all but disappeared in the face of their conversation, but he fought it off.

David’s voice, suddenly loud and snappish, was briefly audible through the closed kitchen door – “oh my God, Alexis, eat rocks,” – and Patrick had to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle his laughter. _Point Brewer_ , he thought, and turned back to the book.

Patrick lost himself in David’s book, which had something to do with drought and a rural family in Saskatchewan, and got through a chapter and a half before David came back into the room. He was staring at the phone in his hand, wiping at his eyes with his other wrist. Patrick watched him fondly, unable to keep the slightly smug smile from his face. When David looked up and saw, he instantly scowled. Patrick laughed, placing the book on the coffee table as he stood and walked over to envelope David in a hug.

“You’re getting your five dollars in nickles.”

Patrick snorted. “It’s not tomorrow – she hasn’t called back yet. You might not owe.”

“She asked if she could call after work.”

Patrick squeezed tighter, burrowing his nose into David’s neck and closing his eyes. “Feel better?”

David sighed and wiggled deeper into the hug. “Yes, very much. Thank you. I’m sorry I’ve been so grouchy lately.”

“Tell me why next time? I was worried for months, David.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just thought I should be able to handle it by myself.”

“You don’t have to, though.” Patrick stroked his hands down David’s back to stress the point. “That’s why I’m here.”

David pulled away slightly and framed Patrick’s face with one hand, an expression on his face that Patrick struggled to interpret. David kissed him once, twice, then leaned his forehead against Patrick’s. “I love you, too,” he whispered, and Patrick just smiled.

* * *

Later that night:

* * *

In the end, Alexis did end up spending Christmas at David and Patrick’s place. Patrick only regretted the situation once – and even then only briefly – and that was when the three hour drive back from the airport turned into an almost six hour trip because of an accident on the highway; being stuck in a car with _any_ two Roses for that long would have been a trial, let alone two who were suddenly thrust back together after expressing vulnerability and each unsure of where their new boundaries lay. Patrick, who had promised himself that he wouldn’t interfere in David and Alexis’ stumbling steps into a functional relationship, gave himself a canker sore on his tongue from biting it.

As expected, the visit was turbulent – Alexis was a whirlwind and David was reactive and Patrick was a solid rock in the middle of it all, pinging gently sardonic commentary off of both of them when it amused him best. David didn’t talk to Patrick about the situation – communication was still a working task item, from both sides – and Patrick worried slightly, concerned that he had read the whole thing wrong and that Alexis wasn’t actually as on-board as he had originally thought she would be. But the hug the siblings shared when Alexis was standing in the departures terminal a few days after Christmas, longer and tighter than Patrick had ever seen them hold each other, told him all he needed to know.

They settled into a new normal. David’s phone pinged with Alexis’ text notifications more and more often, while Patrick received fewer and fewer. They FaceTimed a few times a week, sometimes plus Patrick, sometimes sans. As the months wore on, Patrick learned to stop grinning like a fool whenever he came across David talking to Alexis, and David learned to stop dramatically throwing pillows and baked goods at Patrick whenever he pointed out David’s knowledge of Alexis’ life in New York.

January in Schitt’s Creek was cold and crisp, the snow producing a styrofoamy squeak underfoot and the ice refusing to melt in the face of road salt. Patrick slipped on the steps of the store and wrenched his shoulder catching himself on the handrail, which led to David obsessing over keeping the steps clear for the rest of the season. Alexis demanded to speak to Patrick herself when David told her about his tumble, and Patrick happily listened to her concerned scolding through a haze of codeine.

February brought both Clint Brewer’s birthday and the snowstorm of the century, burying the entire county in almost two metres of snow. With the roads impassable and the hydro out, Patrick and David called Clint from where they were hunkered down in their living room, sharing blankets and breath and turns feeding the fireplace. Then David called Alexis and they chatted about her week while Patrick snuggled against his cashmere sweater, listening to their easy camaraderie with a warmth in his chest that could outlast any winter storm.

March dragged its feet, creeping along as winter slowly gave into spring, the crocuses in Moira’s Rose’s garden heroically sprouting through the last few inches of snow. Alexis picked up a contract with a musician Patrick hadn’t heard of, but whom David swore up and down was a pretty big deal with Gen Z. They mailed her a congratulatory gift basket from the store, piled ridiculously high with every lip balm flavour they had in addition to her other favourite products; she unboxed it on her Instagram account, and Patrick and David found themselves flooded with online orders for the next couple of weeks.

In April, David walked into the kitchen after finishing his call with Alexis, looking faintly stunned. His sister, he told Patrick, was moving to Toronto – a mere three and a half hour drive away. Interflix Canada had offered her a permanent position and she took them up on it. Patrick exclaimed his excitement and David just smiled, looking faintly overwhelmed as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. They opened a bottle of the good wine to celebrate and Patrick basked in the glow of a deeply happy David for the rest of the evening.

Patrick found it didn’t take detective skills, pattern recognition, or any length of time for him to understand David’s mood this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're done! Chapter 2 is the same content, just with written texts instead of images. Thanks for reading!
> 
>   1. God, I hope that was coherent. A beta, a beta, my kingdom for a beta. Let me know if you see a typo I missed!
>   2. It’s so weird being able to just… absently write Canadiana into a work and not have to pick it all out again with a US- or UK-shaped comb. I need to find more Canadian fandoms, folks. It makes writing far less stressful.
>   3. David’s “Queens & Queers” playlist is 100% based on my own of the same name, lmao
>   4. The absolutely _perfect_ representation of a sibling relationship is one of the first things that I loved about Schitt’s Creek and is definitely what inspired this fic. I may or may not have watched [multiple](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8m3V8aPzoI) [compilations](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_acAHyAKuI) of [David & Alexis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xAzHsnIhEg) [interactions](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_l-6wMVaNVo) to prep for writing this.
>   5. I actually adore CanLit, but it’s just [far too easy to make fun of](http://canlitgenerator.com/).
> 



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The screen reader friendly version!

September, Patrick concluded, was an understandable write off. Their wedding being immediately followed by Mr. and Mrs. Rose’s departure from town would have been plenty enough to throw his and David’s balance off for a while, but adding in Alexis heading to New York a week later, dealing with the purchase of the house, signing two new vendors, and finding an employee to help keep the store afloat while the two owners were caught in the whirlwind of the rest of the lives – well, yes. A write off. Any spikes in emotions or tempers were forgiven and waived, completely, wholeheartedly, mutually, for the entirety of September.

October was better. They closed on the house in late September and booked moving trucks for the first week of October, giving themselves a solid ten days to get as settled as they could before the long drive through the perfect autumn foliage to the Brewers’ for the Thanksgiving weekend. David ate damn near an entire shoofly pie, much to Auntie Carole’s satisfaction, and Patrick did some much-needed work to repair the still healing bond with his parents.

November was classically gross -- grey and wet and cold without the childish delight that comes with snow, the wind stripping away the colour of the year into the bland misery of bare branches and sturdy conifers. Environmental factors aside, though, November was good. Sales picked up at the store with the approaching holiday season, Stevie started coming around a few nights a week for dinner and drinks and snippy banter, and Patrick managed to convince David to join the curling league with a promise of plentiful alcohol and very little physical exertion. (Stevie documented the first game with great enthusiasm and hid behind Patrick when David tried to delete the evidence from her phone.)

When December brought the childish delight in ten-centimetre bouts, each melting just before the next appeared, Patrick declared himself utterly stumped. Things were going undeniably well for them – financially, professionally, personally, romantically, domestically, and by just about any other measure Patrick could think of.

So he could not figure out why David was being such a perpetual _grump_.

* * *

September 28:

**[Alexis]**  
How’s RA doing?  
I’m worried about ur lip balm supply  
It needs an official tester

**[Patrick]**  
RA is doing well, despite a lack of lip balm tester!  
Though David tests all the new flavours (? types? versions?) that come in

**[Alexis]**  
I wouldn’t trust him  
he liked the lemon mint one which was clearly just wrong

**[Patrick]**  
Isn’t that a classic flavour combo? Like mojitos?

**[Alexis]**  
Omg patty cakes, mojitos are mint and LIME

**[Patrick]**  
Wow, that nickname is not on the approved list

**[Alexis]**  
Where is this list?  
Send me the Gdocs link

**[Patrick]**  
Once I write it up, you’ll be the first to get it

**[Alexis]**  
😘

* * *

Perhaps “perpetual” was unfair, Patrick reflected. David was perfectly pleasant – for a given definition of pleasant as defined by David’s character and personality – about nine tenths of the time. The reason for that last tenth, however, was frustratingly elusive. The grumpiness popped up when Patrick least expected it and he had yet to find a recognisable trend.

For example: on a Tuesday in mid-October that brought an afternoon lull to the store, David and Patrick had been idly discussing potential destinations for an inexpensive honeymoon weekend to tide them over until they could afford a real honeymoon in a year’s time.

“Do you care which side of the border we stay on?” Patrick was restocking the skin care section, opened boxes in a semi-circle at his feet.

David shook his head absently, spray bottle and cloth in hand as he eyed the produce. “Nope. Dual citizenship has its perks.”

Patrick smirked. “No comment.”

“Uh, rude.”

“Well, if it doesn’t matter to you, I’d rather stay in Canada.” Patrick folded up an empty box and leaned it against the table leg. “Crossing the border can be such a fuss sometimes.”

“I… have never done it on a commercial flight, I’m realising. Is it really that bad?” David gave Patrick a horrified look. Patrick just raised his eyebrows in return. “Gross, okay. Staying in Canada, right.”

“Suggestions? Keeping in mind that domestic flights are still pretty expensive, so maybe not far-flung destinations like Vancouver or Halifax.”

“We could do Montreal. My French is… non-existent but that’d probably be fine? You can French. Or we could do Toronto, I guess.”

“Ew, David,” Patrick quipped, scrunching up his nose to better imitate Alexis. “Toronto is ew.” David whipped around to glare at him, hands gesticulating wildly, and Patrick cracked up.

“Oh my God, Patrick, never do that again. If I have nightmares, it’s your fault!”

Patrick put his hands up in placation, a grin pulling at his cheeks, and continued the conversation. “I’m surprised you don’t want to do New York.”

“Yeah, no, New York in the winter is only nice in music videos. Plus it’s an expensive city and, unfortunately, you are not able to keep me in the style to which I had become accustomed while living there.” David put his nose in the air and spritzed the squash again, his lips veering to the side as he attempted to hide a smile.

“Okay David, how about Sudbury?” Patrick said in his flat trolling voice, turning to lean his hip on the table and cross his arms over his chest. “It’s a five-hour drive, plus a ferry over the lake, which would be _delightful_ in the winter. Very cheap, too. And I’m sure they’ve got, oh, at least one hotel. We could go ice fishing. Maybe look at a giant coin.”

David spritzed the bottle at him and Patrick swatted at the spray, laughing.

“I’ll take that as a no to Sudbury.”

“Mmm, you read my mind, darling.”

Then the door opened and a pair of customers came in, distracting David away from the produce to talk about their scented candles. Patrick continued restocking, folding up each box as he emptied it and carefully maintaining the precise lines and rows of bottles.

After David had rung out the customers’ purchases and the door’s bell had rung the customers out the store, Patrick waited expectantly for David to pick up the thread of their conversation again. They really did need to decide where they wanted to go if they were going to get plans in place for early next year, and since Patrick’s generous suggestion was just shot down, the ball was in David’s court. But after a long minute of silence, Patrick turned to see David leaning on the till counter, his hands splayed wide on the wood surface and his head hanging down loosely between his shoulders.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked cautiously, worry spiking his voice. “Did the customers say something?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, just thinking about candle scents.” David tipped his head towards Patrick but didn’t look up. “I wonder if Horace takes suggestions? Something bright and fruity, like mango, except he only does local scents. Maybe raspberry? His whole scent palette is just very… woody. Piney. Which is nice, of course, but some variety would probably go over well.”

Patrick nodded slowly, letting David talk them away from whatever was actually bothering him. “I think raspberry could work. What about cranberry?”

“Ooh, cranberry, yes.” David nodded rhythmically, chin jutting out. “Yes, yes, yes, good. Love it.”

“I’ll mention it to Horace next time I see him.”

David waved a hand. “No, I’ll just send him an email now. I should do some vendor correspondence anyway.” Turning on his heel, he swept into the curtained stock-room-slash-office and tucked himself into the chair.

Patrick pursed his lips; David hadn’t met his eyes once in that whole conversation. Tilting his head back and sending a small prayer for clarity to the ceiling, Patrick tidied his flattened boxes and continued his restocking efforts.

David was quiet and withdrawn for the rest of the afternoon, only speaking when spoken to, his body language shrunken and tight behind the desk. After they went home, David spent the evening curled up in his favourite armchair with a book while Patrick watched him worriedly over a cup of tea.

* * *

October 19:

**[Alexis]**  
Has David spent all ur profits on the new Givenchy collection yet??  
This season is very HIM and I worry for ur finances 💸 💸 💸

**[Patrick]**  
We have an agreement  
he sticks to a clothing budget & I don’t comment on how he decides to use said budget  
It seems to be working thus far

**[Alexis]**  
K so what ur saying is that we’re all going to get lists of clothes for xmas/hannukah requests

**[Patrick]**  
quite possibly, yes

**[Alexis]**  
ugh  
I’m gonna buy him H&M imitations  
or wish  
make a wish unboxing with givenchy knockoffs! yt would love ittttt

**[Patrick]**  
😂

* * *

For a while, Patrick thought David was worrying about money. The store was doing well, particularly for a retail start-up, and Patrick had no real complaints to speak of regarding the cash flow, but he wouldn’t put it past David to have unreasonably high expectations and be quietly crushed when they weren’t met. However, when Patrick’s prodding on the subject – which grew steadily less subtle over the span of a week – failed to produce the predicted effect and actually resulted in the about-face of David asking Patrick if _he_ was feeling okay with their financial situation, Patrick changed tack.

Directly asking David about his little downswings got them nowhere but on a direct (and rather loud) train straight to Ardent Denial, so Patrick started paying more attention to the conversations and circumstances that preceded the sour moods. They happened more frequently at home, especially in the evenings and first thing in the morning. They didn’t seem to be related to the weather or the temperature. Thankfully, there were no mysterious pill bottles floating around the apartment, no extra wine bottles in the blue bin. There was no regularity to the occurrences connected to the store or the café or food or sex or social media or any of the multitude of romcoms they watched on a regular basis. Patrick may have been a numbers guy, but this pattern was completely evading him.

He thought about appealing to Stevie for more information, but she clearly had no idea what was bothering David either given the inquisitive texts she sent Patrick whenever David stopped by the motel to see her. _what’s up with david?_ she’d ask, _did you wash one of his dry clean only sweaters? did he wear out his copy of notting hill? did roland exist near him?_ While not directly useful, Stevie had inadvertently lifted a small weight from Patrick’s shoulders – someone else had noticed. Patrick wasn’t just imagining that his husband was struggling with something and refusing to share; it was actually happening.

There was one evening in November when Patrick felt particularly useless in the face of David’s moods, so notably out of sync with his husband that it made him feel off balance.

They were cooking in the kitchen, Patrick at the stove with the chicken while David carefully marshalled the vegetables into a slaw, and enjoying David’s meticulously curated Queens & Queers playlist. Dolly Parton's crooning turned into Tegan and Sara’s impassioned vocals, followed by Hayley Kiyoko’s soft pining and Against Me!’s plaintive emoting, and then David sang along with Lady Gaga’s _Born This Way_ with an over-the-top enthusiasm that had Patrick laughing until he cried.

When the first familiar notes of _I’m Gonna Getcha Good_ spilled into the kitchen, Patrick grinned and immediately started bobbing his head, suddenly warm with a flush of nostalgia and feeling slightly ridiculous for it. At the other end of the counter, David made a disgruntled little noise in the back of his throat and plucked his phone from the bowl that was functioning as an amplifier. The song cut out, interrupting Shania mid-word, and the first strains of a Mika song filtered through the air instead.

The sudden change startled the warmth from Patrick’s chest, leaving him feeling a little hollow and cold. “Actually, can we listen to that song?” He tilted his head questioningly at David, who gave him a wide-eyed look in return.

“Oh.” David gestured, flustered. “Uh, the Shania one?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just like it. Reminds me of good times.”

“Okay, sure, yeah, let me go back.” The twangy music started up again.

Patrick lip-synced with the _let’s go_ part, then said, “Thanks. I know you usually skip it, but it’s a jam.”

“Wow, excuse me, I do _not_ usually skip it.”

Patrick paused at the underlying note in David’s tone and looked up from the skillet, brows pinched together. That was at least the third time David had skipped over that song in recent memory, and Patrick knew he’d probably missed a few more, so he didn’t think he was out of line in saying what he did. But David was frowning down at his phone, intently scrolling through something. His shoulders had crept up to his ears.

“Oh, okay. Sorry, I just thought you tended to. Wasn’t trying to make anything of it, David.”

David shook his head and dropped his phone back into the bowl, turning back to his chopping board and starting in on the cabbage again. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

_Unlikely_ , Patrick thought, and began racking his brain for why a Shania Twain song would upset David as he shifted his weight back and forth to the beat for a few minutes. Coming up with approximately nothing, Patrick pushed the conversation.

“This came out when I was in high school and was on the radio constantly, y’know? And, I mean, you’ve got to love Shania – she’s local.”

David glanced up from his cabbage. “Isn’t Timmins like… a full day’s drive from here?”

Patrick shrugged. “More local to where I grew up, I guess. It’s only a couple hours away from there.”

“ _Local_ ,” David quietly mocked, and Patrick bit back a sigh. Still prickly, then. Taking an educated guess – and knowing how much David loved hearing about young, naïve Patrick – Patrick tried again.

“I even learned it for the guitar and played it at a talent show.”

David snapped his eyes to Patrick’s, a broad grin slowly creeping over his face. “Seriously? Oh my God, Patrick, how did you not know you were gay?” He laughed, shaking his head as he dumped the shredded cabbage into the waiting bowl.

“Hey now!” Patrick pointed the spatula at David, waving it menacingly. “You’re the one always going on about how aesthetic preferences don’t equate to sexuality.”

“Mm, and I’m right,” David gloated, swanning across the kitchen to drape himself over Patrick’s back. “Doesn’t mean there aren’t certain patterns.” He kissed Patrick’s cheek. “Such as a deep appreciation for the pop country queen.”

“Tell that to my entire high school, David.” Patrick shook his head, grinning despite himself. “Shania fans are basically universal in rural Ontario, especially during her peak.”

“Implying that she’s peaked?” David poked him in the side. “Rude. She’s making a comeback.”

Patrick ignored that. “Anyway, I played the guitar as an accompaniment for Rachel, who sang. It was her idea.”

“Hmm, I guess that does complicate matters a little more. Are those supposed to look like that?” David asked, eyeing the chicken thighs suspiciously.

Patrick prodded them with the spatula. “Yes.” Probably.

David made a deeply doubtful noise, pressed a kiss to the back of Patrick’s head, and moved back to his cutting board as the song came to an end. Mika started singing about being golden and Patrick hummed along automatically, his thoughts still bouncing around memories associated with Shania Twain.

Mika had turned into the Scissor Sisters when Patrick chuckled at a thought that suddenly sprung to mind. “It’s one of Alexis’ favourite songs too, I think. _I’m Gonna Getcha Good_ , that is.”

“Oh?” David kept his eyes trained on the apple he was carefully dicing.

“Yeah. Remember when I made the mistake of mentioning that I liked it one night when we all went out to the bar, and she made me dance with her to it? She played it on the jukebox like seven times in a row and wouldn’t let me sit down,” Patrick laughed. “Until those bikers took over control of the music. They did not approve of our impromptu Shania night.”

“Mmm, sounds about right. A hotbed of superior musical tastes, The Wobbly Elm is.”

“Beggars and choosers, honey.”

David didn’t respond, and Patrick felt his heart sink. He’d brought him back, had him laughing and joking, and then lost him again. He watched as David tossed the slaw with the dressing, quietly cleaned up his area, and slinked out of the kitchen. Patrick fought the sudden urge to cry, hating the helplessness welling in his stomach.

The playlist, full of joy and comfort, suddenly felt out of place and Patrick picked up David’s phone to turn it off.

* * *

November 26:

**[Alexis]**  
Ok re: yesterdays convo about my tv producer frenemy  
Have u been watching the new season of Chaos Machine??  
The last episode hardxcore reminds me of the time I had to talk my way out of a kidnapping sitch in Bangladesh with a bunch of animal smugglers  
And like I know David knows about it because I texted him when it was happening but I didn’t think I told anyone else?  
But now I think I must have told Karin too?  
And she must have like stole my story for her show or something? “inspiration” or some schitt  
idk but the plot is waaaay too close

**[Patrick]**  
wow  
yknow I can never tell when you’re making these stories up

**[Alexis]**  
Basically never  
I definitely can’t play Never Have I Ever anymore lmao 🥴 🤮  
Surely David’s told u all about my wild and misspent youth

**[Patrick]**  
Some  
I don’t think he likes talking about it  
? You there?

**[Alexis]**  
Sorry ya  
He’s such a drama queen, ugh  
Clearly I was fine

**[Patrick]**  
I’m glad you were

**[Alexis]**  
Awwwwwwwwww thx button ur so cute

**[Patrick]**  
😁

**[Alexis]**  
😘

* * *

It all came out one evening in December.

Patrick was nearly nodding off over his book, some campy YA novel that Twyla had recommended and which was valiantly failing to keep him engaged in the aftermath of a full dinner, two glasses of wine, and a cuddly husband. He snapped his head up from where it had drifted down to his chest for at least the third time, rubbing at his eyes as he yawned. Glancing down at David, whose long form was sprawled out over the majority of the couch with his head resting on Patrick’s thigh, Patrick caught him smiling, clearly amused with Patrick’s inability to stay awake past nine thirty.

“It’s the wine,” Patrick quietly defended himself. David just _mmmm_ ’ed in response and turned a page in the book propped on his chest, one of his twisty, incomprehensible tomes of Canadian fiction.

Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face. The coziness was enhanced by the blustery evening whipping around outside the windows, producing a sharp contrast to the steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table and David’s mohair sweater, and he felt his brain snuggling into it like a big fluffy bed. There was a pea under the mattress somewhere though, a niggling thought that he was supposed to remember before he fell asleep.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Patrick said, tapping a finger gently against David’s forehead. “Noémie was asking today when we’re going to need her over the holidays. I told her I’d talk to you and get back to her tomorrow.”

David hummed, looking up from his book to raise his eyebrows at Patrick. “I guess that means we need to figure out our plans, then.”

“What are your parents doing for the holidays?” Patrick stifled another yawn. “I know it’s short notice, but we could probably host them here if they’d like. My parents understand that they can’t hog us for every holiday.”

“Mm, I was talking to Dad the other day and he said they can’t get away from California yet. They want to show up to all the right parties and shake the right hands, make sure people know they’re back in the scene. It’ll help spur more contracts for Mom.” David flipped a page in his book, tapping the toe of his ugg against the arm of the couch absently. “He went on about coming next year though, so maybe that. And if they come for Hanukkah instead of Christmas, I think it’s pretty early next year so it’d spread the chaos out a little bit.”

“Okay, that should work.” Patrick bit down on a sigh of relief. He loved the Roses, but they were… a lot and maybe the first Christmas in a new house, first as a married couple, wasn’t the best time to be inundated with Johnny and Moira’s particular brand of in-law. “What about Alexis?”

David flared his fingers, gold rings catching the lights as he looked up from his book. “What about her?”

“Do you know what she’s doing for the holidays? Is she flying to the west coast to be with your parents?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Patrick, I haven’t spoken to her in weeks.” David curled up slightly, pulling his feet in to raise his knees.

Patrick blinked. That didn’t seem right. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” David gasped out, indignant. “We’re not attached at the hip, Patrick.”

“Well, she could come here if she wants. We’re closer than California by a longshot.”

“Ugh.” David waved away the idea like it had a physical presence.

Patrick was struggling to follow the conversation, his brain still sluggish from the dozy atmosphere that had encompassed them before David had tensed up. “What? Do you not want her to come?”

“Um, no, have you met Alexis? What an exhausting creature.” The words were right and the tone was close, but there was something off about it. Something hollow sounding and sad.

If Patrick were a dog, his ears would’ve perked up.

Forcing his voice into something neutral, Patrick went on. “I dunno,” he said, stretching out his legs to prop his slippered feet on the coffee table. “I always found her more energising than exhausting. Very infectious enthusiasm.”

“Mmm, that would be because you only dealt with her on a part-time basis? You got sample size Alexis, not Costco Alexis.” David’s hand fluttered at his collarbone to emphasise how very unfortunate commercial bulk quantities of Alexis would be.

“Maybe,” Patrick conceded. He ran a hand through David’s thick hair, fingers catching slightly in the product-stiffness of it. “Why haven’t you been talking to her?”

“Why would I?” David’s face was a picture of bafflement. “She’s off doing her thing now, big publicist in the big city. She doesn’t need to hear from me.”

Pieces started clicking together in Patrick’s brain, a constellation slowly forming between previously arbitrary points – Alexis’ favourite song, Patrick’s _ew_ imitation, visiting Stevie at the now Rose-free motel, and all the other myriad reminders David likely encountered on a daily basis. “But don’t you miss her?”

David sat up and turned to grimace at Patrick, setting his open book upside down on the cushion beside him. “No,” he hissed, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s to miss? She doesn’t miss me either.”

“How do you know that if you haven’t spoken to her?”

“Because I know my sister, Patrick.”

Patrick pursed his lips and watched his husband carefully. Over the past few years, Patrick had learned how much armour David could put up to protect his vulnerable spots and how strong it could be, but he was still working on how to best get him to take it down. Sometimes it took cautious maneuvering and often it took loving mockery, but occasionally it just needed some irrefutable evidence to the contrary of whatever insecurity put the armour up in the first place. Shifting forward slightly, Patrick pulled his phone from his back pocket, brought up his text chain with Alexis, and handed it to David.

“What is this?” David grumbled, gingerly taking the phone in a limp grip.

Patrick dropped his hand to David’s thigh and squeezed gently. “Just read it.”

David read the messages visible on the screen and Patrick felt his breathing hitch where they were leaning together. Slowly scrolling with his thumb, David made his way through the previous messages, reading Patrick’s conversations with Alexis over the past week, then two weeks, then three, back and back and back. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of messages from her in the span of two and half months, and every single one of them was asking after David. Obliquely, perhaps, or sarcastically, but the pattern was undeniable.

Patrick watched David’s face as he read, watched his eyes go wet and his mouth flatten out as he tried to control his emotions.

“She misses you too, David.”

David’s face crumpled slightly and Patrick leaned in to press his forehead to his temple, nosing at the more-five-o’clock-than-deliberate scruff on his jaw.

“You’re allowed to miss your sister, sweetheart.”

Leaning into the touch, David suddenly brought a hand to his mouth and sobbed, his chest jerking unevenly with the rush of air. Patrick immediately wrapped his arms around him, David’s shoulder digging into his sternum as he tightened his grip. David almost quaked with his tears, his whole body jolting and rocking with the tide of anguish that came on strong, yet he was distressingly silent. Patrick ached to see David so distraught, to know that he’d been sitting on emotion of this magnitude, alone, for months. Something to work on, Patrick thought as he felt David shudder against him. 

“Breaths, David,” Patrick murmured, which mysteriously made David cry harder, but Patrick just repeated himself, making his own breathing full and obvious for David to imitate.

Minutes or hours later, Patrick realised that David had mostly stopped crying, a gradual calming like the settling snow after an avalanche, and was instead simply shaking as the emotional outburst took its physical toll. Patrick sat back slightly, loosening his hug, and David responded with a trembling breath, his face still crumpled and wet.

“Hey,” Patrick said, wiping a thumb under David’s eye. David flinched as though to pull away, but relaxed, letting Patrick clear some of the tears from his cheek.

“Hey,” David replied, voice so hoarse he just mouthed the sound. Patrick smiled softly and rubbed his hand along David’s ribcage, his fingers trailing through the soft halo of mohair fibre.

David sighed and cleared his throat a few times, still sounding very damp. “This is so dumb, ugh,” he croaked, fanning his face with his free hand. “She’s just my stupid sister, and I’m at least theoretically an adult.” Patrick plucked the tissue box from the coffee table and held it out to David, who gave him a grateful look as he extracted a handful of tissues. Dabbing at his face, he continued, “Why is this bothering me so much?”

Patrick thought about that for a second, pulling his thoughts together. “David, you went from living in a single room with your sister for _years_ to literally not seeing her for months. Of course you miss her. _I_ miss Alexis and I wasn’t sleeping in a bed a metre away from her or sharing a bathroom with her.”

“Count yourself lucky, mister -- Alexis does horrible things to bathrooms. So much hair.”

Patrick made the diplomatic decision not to comment on David’s own unquestionable presence in their en suite and instead pressed a kiss to David’s ear. “Can I ask why you haven’t been talking to her if you miss her? Modern technology is a wonderful thing for long distance relationships of all kinds, I promise.” He tapped his phone’s screen where it had gone black in David’s lap. “Instant communication.”

“I don’t—” David started, then stopped, hunching further over Patrick’s phone. “It wasn’t like this before.”

Patrick brought a hand up to rub David’s shoulders blades, wide strokes smoothing across his back. “What wasn’t?”

David was quiet for a few moments, wiping away the tears that resumed their path down his face. Patrick waited with him, letting him collect his thoughts until he was ready to speak.

“Alexis is bad at staying still,” David finally started. “Schitt’s Creek is by _far_ the place she’s stayed the longest since she was, like, eleven. Hell, her current stint in New York is probably in the top ten. I mean, there were a few years there where she was technically homeless because Mom and Dad moved and forgot to tell her, but I don’t think she actually even noticed because she was never home anyway.” Patrick huffed out a frustrated sound and David nodded absently in agreement, leaning further into Patrick’s solid form. “So I’m used to her leaving and disappearing for months on end, and only getting the occasional text or call and checking her Instagram to see where she was. I know that’s not… good, necessarily, but it was familiar, normal. Like, I’d be _worried_ about her, sure, because she was always getting into shit and doing _unbelievably_ dangerous things, but I didn’t _miss_ her because that’s just how it always was. That was our relationship.

“But now,” David laughed self-deprecatingly, “I don’t know what to do with missing her.” He shook the phone slightly for emphasis. “I don’t know how to manage this.”

Patrick mulled that over as he pressed a kiss to the ball of David’s shoulder. He didn’t like thinking about David and Alexis’ childhood, partially because it made him feel uncharitable things towards Johnny and Moira, and partially because he was uncomfortable with the ‘poor little rich kid’ trope that the younger Roses seem to fit so well, provided with all the creature comforts but none of the emotional necessities. But it was difficult not to imagine how David and Alexis would have relied on each other through such an upbringing, two kids surrounded by adults who didn’t care enough about them and who didn’t teach them how to care for other people.

Then Patrick imagined them growing up and adopting the adult behaviours modelled for them – cool disregard and haughty distance and feigned politeness, protecting their vulnerable inner workings from the vicious barbs thrown at them by the world they lived in. He pictured them slowly putting those behaviours into practice on each other, cutting off their sibling without understanding why they were doing it or why it was so tragic. He pictured them drifting away from each other, bouncing off mirrored walls and yearning for the connection that they were afraid to reach for, hesitant to disrupt their comfortable rhythm for fear of losing what tentative relationship they had, of losing their sibling to the fray that took everyone else before they had a chance.

Blinking back tears of his own, Patrick cupped his hand around the back of David’s neck. “Do you want help? Figuring out how to manage this?”

“Yes, please. My usual strategy of just ignoring everything hasn’t worked.”

Patrick huffed a laugh and David pulled his lips into a wry, if damp, smile that Patrick couldn’t help but lean in to kiss.

“Well, if you’ll allow me some guesswork, I think you and Alexis are trying to fall back into your old pattern – where you don’t really interact all that much outside of the occasional text – but your new relationship doesn’t fit that anymore. You’ve both changed and how you relate has changed.” David made a small noise of protest, but Patrick just squeezed his arm in response. “I think you need to work out how to fit together again.”

David rested his head in his hands, covering his eyes. “And how precisely does one do that? _Hey Alexis, let’s have a discussion about how to communicate effectively in the future_ isn’t going to go over well.”

Patrick let out a slow breath. “Okay, well, I’m an only child so the whole sibling relationship thing is a bit novel to me, but I have had to restructure several long-time relationships over the past few years. Partly because of the whole being gay thing—” he waved a hand in a wide circle to indicate all that encompassed, “—but mostly because I don’t live in Belleton anymore. All of my established patterns for my interactions with my family and friends had to change because most of them relied on me being physically present, which just can’t happen.

“I… definitely cut everyone off at first, back when I ran away to Schitt’s Creek, but that was just because I wasn’t ready to deal with them. Once I got my head on straight—”

“—head on gay—” David corrected quietly through a smile.

Patrick rolled his eyes affectionately, shaking his head. “—I just reached out to people. Found my new normal with them.”

“That sounds… incredibly unpleasant. And messy. And, like, open.”

“Yes, it was. Relationships often are, David.”

“Why are you so much better at this than me?”

Patrick paused. “…Do you really want to get into that right now?”

“No, nope, no, you’re right.” David breathed out a wavering laugh. “One disaster at a time.”

Rubbing David’s thigh, Patrick leaned in for a kiss. “Being vulnerable sucks, but that’s what taking that step with Alexis is. You’re both playing phone chicken, even if you don’t know you are.” He squeezed David’s thigh. “You need to put your neck out a little bit. And it really is only a very little bit because we’re pretty damn sure she misses you.” He tapped his phone again to illustrate his point.

David gave the phone a slightly wary look, which he then transferred to Patrick.

“Just call her, David,” Patrick said, tilting his head with a smile. “Five dollars says you’ll squawk at each other for a bit, she’ll say ‘ew’ at least once, you’ll tell her to lick a sandcastle or something, but she’ll call you back tomorrow.”

David scrunched up his nose. “Ugh, you know us too well.”

“Yes, I do, which is why I know she’ll appreciate the call.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll call her,” David declared, and then accepted Patrick’s incoming kiss with a slightly disgruntled expression. He lifted the phone, paused, and looked at Patrick. “How much do I sound like I’ve been crying?”

“Uh.” Patrick grimaced. “You could tell her you have a cold?”

“Oh my God. Whatever, it’s fine.” David swiped at the phone in his hand, realised it was Patrick’s, grabbed his from the coffee table, and opened his contacts. His thumb hovered over Alexis’ name. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as I can be, David. It’ll be fine and if it isn’t, I’ll help fix it.”

David grunted and tapped Alexis’ name, holding the phone to his ear as he reached for his probably-too-cold tea on the coffee table. Patrick heard the ringing cut off and David cleared his throat and stood, stepping away from the couch. “Hey.”

“What’s up? Are you okay?” Alexis’ voice was tinny through the phone’s speaker, but Patrick could still make her out.

“Yeah, I’m good, chill,” David responded as he made his way through the door to the kitchen. “How’s New York? Has it snowed yet?”

Patrick leaned back into the couch and ran a hand through his hair. He thought about picking up his phone to scroll through some social media, but it felt too heavy at the moment, too laden with the evidence of David and Alexis’ disjointed relationship. Instead, his eyes fell to David’s book, abandoned on the far end of the couch.

Carefully marking David’s spot with the back flap of the dust cover, Patrick flipped to the first page and started skimming. How did David read this stuff? Too much allegory for Patrick’s tastes by far. At least it made for a good distraction, engaging Patrick’s brain enough that he didn’t unwittingly try to listen in on David’s conversation with Alexis. It also reignited the drowsiness he’d been succumbing to earlier, which had all but disappeared in the face of their conversation, but he fought it off.

David’s voice, suddenly loud and snappish, was briefly audible through the closed kitchen door – “oh my God, Alexis, eat rocks,” – and Patrick had to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle his laughter. _Point Brewer_ , he thought, and turned back to the book.

Patrick lost himself in David’s book, which had something to do with drought and a rural family in Saskatchewan, and got through a chapter and a half before David came back into the room. He was staring at the phone in his hand, wiping at his eyes with his other wrist. Patrick watched him fondly, unable to keep the slightly smug smile from his face. When David looked up and saw, he instantly scowled. Patrick laughed, placing the book on the coffee table as he stood and walked over to envelope David in a hug.

“You’re getting your five dollars in nickles.”

Patrick snorted. “It’s not tomorrow – she hasn’t called back yet. You might not owe.”

“She asked if she could call after work.”

Patrick squeezed tighter, burrowing his nose into David’s neck and closing his eyes. “Feel better?”

David sighed and wiggled deeper into the hug. “Yes, very much. Thank you. I’m sorry I’ve been so grouchy lately.”

“Tell me why next time? I was worried for months, David.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just thought I should be able to handle it by myself.”

“You don’t have to, though.” Patrick stroked his hands down David’s back to stress the point. “That’s why I’m here.”

David pulled away slightly and framed Patrick’s face with one hand, an expression on his face that Patrick struggled to interpret. David kissed him once, twice, then leaned his forehead against Patrick’s. “I love you, too,” he whispered, and Patrick just smiled.

* * *

Later that night:

**[Alexis]**  
thank u

**[Patrick]**  
I didn’t do anything

**[Alexis]**  
u nudged him

**[Patrick]**  
You need someone to nudge you too  
You could’ve called just as easily

**[Alexis]**  
Ugh  
I know, don’t remind me  
I'm gonna write a big note on my schedule for this weekend that says "work on urself"  
❤️ anyway

**[Patrick]**  
❤️

* * *

In the end, Alexis did end up spending Christmas at David and Patrick’s place. Patrick only regretted the situation once – and even then only briefly – and that was when the three hour drive back from the airport turned into an almost six hour trip because of an accident on the highway; being stuck in a car with _any_ two Roses for that long would have been a trial, let alone two who were suddenly thrust back together after expressing vulnerability and each unsure of where their new boundaries lay. Patrick, who had promised himself that he wouldn’t interfere in David and Alexis’ stumbling steps into a functional relationship, gave himself a canker sore on his tongue from biting it.

As expected, the visit was turbulent – Alexis was a whirlwind and David was reactive and Patrick was a solid rock in the middle of it all, pinging gently sardonic commentary off of both of them when it amused him best. David didn’t talk to Patrick about the situation – communication was still a working task item, from both sides – and Patrick worried slightly, concerned that he had read the whole thing wrong and that Alexis wasn’t actually as on-board as he had originally thought she would be. But the hug the siblings shared when Alexis was standing in the departures terminal a few days after Christmas, longer and tighter than Patrick had ever seen them hold each other, told him all he needed to know.

They settled into a new normal. David’s phone pinged with Alexis’ text notifications more and more often, while Patrick received fewer and fewer. They FaceTimed a few times a week, sometimes plus Patrick, sometimes sans. As the months wore on, Patrick learned to stop grinning like a fool whenever he came across David talking to Alexis, and David learned to stop dramatically throwing pillows and baked goods at Patrick whenever he pointed out David’s knowledge of Alexis’ life in New York.

January in Schitt’s Creek was cold and crisp, the snow producing a styrofoamy squeak underfoot and the ice refusing to melt in the face of road salt. Patrick slipped on the steps of the store and wrenched his shoulder catching himself on the handrail, which led to David obsessing over keeping the steps clear for the rest of the season. Alexis demanded to speak to Patrick herself when David told her about his tumble, and Patrick happily listened to her concerned scolding through a haze of codeine.

February brought both Clint Brewer’s birthday and the snowstorm of the century, burying the entire county in almost two metres of snow. With the roads impassable and the hydro out, Patrick and David called Clint from where they were hunkered down in their living room, sharing blankets and breath and turns feeding the fireplace. Then David called Alexis and they chatted about her week while Patrick snuggled against his cashmere sweater, listening to their easy camaraderie with a warmth in his chest that could outlast any winter storm.

March dragged its feet, creeping along as winter slowly gave into spring, the crocuses in Moira’s Rose’s garden heroically sprouting through the last few inches of snow. Alexis picked up a contract with a musician Patrick hadn’t heard of, but whom David swore up and down was a pretty big deal with Gen Z. They mailed her a congratulatory gift basket from the store, piled ridiculously high with every lip balm flavour they had in addition to her other favourite products; she unboxed it on her Instagram account, and Patrick and David found themselves flooded with online orders for the next couple of weeks.

In April, David walked into the kitchen after finishing his call with Alexis, looking faintly stunned. His sister, he told Patrick, was moving to Toronto – a mere three and a half hour drive away. Interflix Canada had offered her a permanent position and she took them up on it. Patrick exclaimed his excitement and David just smiled, looking faintly overwhelmed as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. They opened a bottle of the good wine to celebrate and Patrick basked in the glow of a deeply happy David for the rest of the evening.

Patrick found it didn’t take detective skills, pattern recognition, or any length of time for him to understand David’s mood this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. God, I hope that was coherent. A beta, a beta, my kingdom for a beta. Let me know if you see a typo I missed!
>   2. It’s so weird being able to just… absently write Canadiana into a work and not have to pick it all out again with a US- or UK-shaped comb. I need to find more Canadian fandoms, folks. It makes writing far less stressful.
>   3. David’s “Queens & Queers” playlist is 100% based on my own of the same name, lmao
>   4. The absolutely _perfect_ representation of a sibling relationship is one of the first things that I loved about Schitt’s Creek and is definitely what inspired this fic. I may or may not have watched [multiple](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8m3V8aPzoI) [compilations](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_acAHyAKuI) of [David & Alexis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xAzHsnIhEg) [interactions](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_l-6wMVaNVo) to prep for writing this.
>   5. I actually adore CanLit, but it’s just [far too easy to make fun of](http://canlitgenerator.com/).
> 



End file.
